


Mementoes

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-11
Updated: 2006-03-11
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Hoshi finds a box on her chair. (12/11/2002)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: This is in response to Taryn's challenge at EntWriteBrigade to write about Hoshi finding a box on her chair on the bridge.  


* * *

It was at the back of the locker, slightly tarnished. There were a few scratches on it as well, probably made when Travis made too sharp a manoeuvre during a battle. But it held everything she held most dear, and it was going with her.

Going.

She couldn't quite believe it yet.

* * *

She hadn't wanted to be on the bridge that morning. It wasn't because it was her birthday: she'd worked on her birthday for the last seven years. And it wasn't as if there wasn't anything to do: there was. It was just that during the last few weeks she was sure she didn't belong. Too many times when she'd felt that she was more afraid than the rest of the crew, too many times when she'd panicked. Too many times when she'd wanted to be motionless.

She was tired. And there was no mail from home.

But the bridge crew had made an effort. Her console and chair were covered with parcels, brightly wrapped. One even expertly wrapped. That must be from T'Pol.

Everyone was trying and failing not to look pleased with themselves. Despite her determination to be cross, she could feel her mood changing to one of anticipation.

"Go aheadâ€”open them!" Archer waved his hand at the pile. He was grinning. He loved the crew like this, when they were behaving like a family. Well, Hoshi thought, a remnant of sourness lingering, that came of being the only child of an only child.

The first parcel was from Travis. A beautiful piece of silk, shimmering in reds and oranges and pinks. Bought on the last shore leave. It was lovely, too lovely to wear. "I'll make a wall-hanging, so I can see it every day."

Travis was pleased. Even his shoulders seemed to smile as he turned back to the helm.

The captain had bought her a gorgeous reproduction of Chaucer's Canterbury tales. She adored the language, similar yet unfamiliar in its cadence and sounds. She would read it aloud to herself.

T'Pol's exquisite package contained a book of Vulcan poetry. Phlox gave her the Denoblian equivalent of an orchid. Trip had made an tiny model of Enterprise "T' hang above yer bed."

There was one package left. Square and utilitarian, just like it's giver. Dear reliable Malcolm.

"It's a box."

Malcolm blushed.

"It's empty."

His blush became deeper. "I know. I've noticed that whenever we visit a planet, you always bring a small souvenir home. A flower, or a receipt, orâ€”something. So I made a box for you to put them in." And he went hastily back to work.

* * *

"You have to go."

"I know."

"We agreed."

"I _know_."

"Well, don't look at me like that. Don't make it harder than it already is."

* * *

It was only after several months that she'd noticed how exquisitely made it was. The corners were slightly rounded, the surface shimmering with metallic blues. There was a loop of metal for a fastener, and of course it fastened securely. But its value to her was in the momentoes it held.

Unfamiliar flowers. A letter in alien writing, sensuously creeping across the page. The cracker from the Christmas dinner, when Trip had used too much gunpowder and singed her hair. Her grandmother's recipe for soup, and Chef's for Pad Thai.

Her commendation from Starfleet, for translating under the most tremendous pressure, when it seemed that the whole galaxy would be at war unless an understanding could be reached. Her promotion papers.

And the photo of the crew on that Minshara class planet, relaxed and happy, with her in the middle of the laughing group. Belonging.

* * *

Four years of achievement reduced to a suitcase and a trunk. T'Pol always said that possessions were irrelevant, and looking at the small pile Hoshi was inclined to agree. Possessions could be quantified, touched, retained. She was leaving behind the ephemeral.

* * *

She cut up some of Travis's silk to make small pouches, and she used those to keep small things that could get lost amongst the papers and datachips and more robust items.

The earrings that Liz Cutler had bequeathed her. She could never bring herself to wear them, but by keeping them safe she remembered Liz every time she unrolled the silk.

The perfectly shaped, deep green shell that Malcolm found on the blue sands of an unnamed planet. He always blushed when he gave her a present, and she started to look forward to seeing their usually phlegmatic armory officer uncertain and hesitant.

He'd been uncertain and hesitant when she'd kissed him for the first time. She'd kept the leaf she'd brushed out of his hair. As an excuse to touch him it was the best she'd found.

But he'd been determined the first time they'd made love, determined and dedicated to her pleasure. Afterwards they'd laughed at all the times he'd been embarrassed, and they made love again, still laughing. It was a moment that didn't need a physical reminder. She remembered it every day in his touch, and his smile, and his occasional blush.

* * *

Enterprise looked so small against the blackness of space, and the Earth so big. She clutched her box and tried not to remember his face as the shuttle was prepared for take-off.

She wasn't ready for Earth again. After years of not belonging in space, now she didn't belong on the Earth.

She belonged between earth and vacuum. She belonged on Enterprise, but Enterprise wasn't enough anymore.

* * *

The tiny model that Trip made was rehung above her bed, and she made curtains for the windows with Travis' silk, and put the box in the cupboard. She couldn't remember, not yet, not when the act of remembering would destroy her.

* * *

Five days later he turned up at her new office.

He'd pulled strings, called in favours, and made himself a huge nuisance. It had worked.

"I'm insane. To think that I could live without you, even for only five months. I've taken a job with the Tech division."

* * *

A year ago she wouldn't have believed he'd give up his dream. A year ago she wouldn't have believed she'd forgo hers. But priorities change, and impossible decisions become logical and even desirable, and they were content.

The box was still kept in the cupboard, but it was added to regularly. Eventually Malcolm made another, larger one, and it contained things that were even more precious.

One day she planned to take it out and show everything to her daughter. "This is what I was, and this is what I am. It's me, and you, and Daddy."

It was her life.


End file.
